


On My Own

by Bella_Cuore



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Cuore/pseuds/Bella_Cuore
Summary: After the events at Sherrinford, things are at a stalemate with Sherlock and Molly.  John recognizes a song Molly has been humming and enacts a plan to bring his two friends together, with a little help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published work. I welcome constructive criticism, but please be kind.

John pushed the lab door open to see Sherlock sitting at his favorite microscope, presumably examining the evidence from the case they picked up the day before. Across the lab, sitting at the table the furthest away from the detective, sat Molly Hooper, finalizing her notations for a recent autopsy. The only sound in the room was a soft humming coming from Molly.

“Morning, Molls!” John said, walking over to where she was sat.

Molly looked up from her file and gave him a slight smile. “Good morning, John. How are you?”

John sat down across from his friend and smiled back. “Yeah, good. Just dropped Rosie off with Mrs. H. Figured I’d come see how things were progressing,” he replied, tilting his head in Sherlock’s direction.

Molly’s eyes skittered briefly to the detective then dropped back down to her file. “I’ll let you get to it then,” she said quietly. “I have to finish up these notes and then do another post-mortum at 10.” She glanced up at him quickly and asked, “If it is convenient, I’d love to come see my girl this evening when I get off work.” Her focus dropped back down to her file, and she started humming the same tune he heard when he first came in.

“Sure. Great! I know she’d love to see you,” he responded.

When she just absently smiled but didn’t raise her head, John shook his head and rose to head over to Sherlock’s side of the room. The detective was examining the mud collected from the victim’s shoes and comparing it with the mud found on the rest of his clothing. He had texted John earlier that morning saying he thought that was the key to the original crime scene. As usual, Sherlock showed no acknowledgement of John’s presence as he stopped at his elbow.

“Morning, mate. How’s it coming then?” John asked, examining the four different slides Sherlock had already examined. Sherlock ignored him and continued making notations about his findings.

John rolled his eyes in exasperation. So, the silent stalemate continues, he thought, looking across the room as Molly closed her file and quietly left the room. If John hadn’t been paying close attention to his best friend, he would have missed Sherlock’s eyes dart to the door as Molly exited and the ever so slight drop of his shoulders. 

John sighed quietly. “So, no change then?” he asked.

“Don’t state the obvious, John,” Sherlock replied, eyes glued once again to the microscope.

The doctor leaned against the counter so he was level with Sherlock’s eyes and stared at his best friend. It took a minute, but eventually Sherlock sat back and met John’s gaze defiantly. “What, John? Go ahead and say whatever it is so I can get back to doing our job!”

John refused to take the bait, knowing Sherlock was simply trying to deflect. “I thought you said that you had spoken to Molly after what happened at Sherrinford, explained to her about the phone call,” he stated calmly.

Sherlock’s eyes held his for a moment before returning to the microscope. “I did explain it,” he replied, indifferently.

John knew better. “And you’re telling me that after explaining everything that happened, everything that was said and done; kind, loving, and faithful Molly Hooper refuses to understand?” John queried, eyebrow raised skeptically.

Sherlock mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” John pressed.

Sherlock sighed heavily. “I didn’t tell her everything, just what she needed to know.”

John waited, staring at Sherlock’s forehead, but the detective did not elaborate. “And what exactly did you deem necessary for her to know?”

Sherlock slammed his hands down on the lab table and glared at John. “Oh, for the love of... I told her about the threat to her life and the conditions given to remove said threat. She knows it was my long-lost sister that I had forgotten, and that she was testing me. Other than that, I didn’t think she needed or would want any other explanation! What other explanation should I have given her, John? Now, can we please focus on the case at hand.”

The two men stared across the table at one another until Sherlock’s shoulders finally slumped. He sighed and turned his gaze down to the tabletop. “Please, John. Just let me work,” he asked quietly.

John nodded, and Sherlock returned to the microscope. John sat down across the table from him and started looking at the photos from the scene where the victim’s body was found. After a minute, he quietly stated, “This conversation isn’t finished.”

He didn’t look up from the photographs but nodded when he heard his friend reply just as softly, “Understood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is short, but I am still getting used to this. Hopefully, they won’t all be this short.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to talk to Molly.

Later that evening, John was cleaning up the mess Rosie had made of her high chair and herself. He smiled wistfully. It was times like this when he missed Mary the most. She had always been able to find the joy in the smallest, most unlikely of things. He guessed that was from not ever being sure how long she would have them. As he finished wiping the remains of pasta from Rosie’s cheeks and hands, he swiped at his own eyes with his sleeve when he heard the key turn in the door.

“John?” Molly called as she came in the door. He could hear her removing her coat and scarf to hang them on the rack.

“In the kitchen!” he called back, removing the tray from the high chair so he could pick up Rosie. 

Molly came around the corner and hurried to take the tray from him. “Here, let me take that for you,” she said. 

Molly took the tray to the sink, and John lifted Rosie up and snuggled her, rubbing his nose into her neck until she giggled. Molly finished washing the tray and smiled at the father and daughter as she dried it.

John caught her eye and grinned. “I don’t understand how one small child can make such a huge mess,” he exclaimed, grimacing at the dinner plastered to the girl’s clothes and in her hair. 

Molly giggled and set the tray down on the counter. “Why don’t you take her up for a bath while I clean up,” she offered, grabbing the flannel from the sink.

“No, why don’t you take her,” John suggested. “It’s been awhile since you’ve had a chance to see her, you’ve been working such long shifts.”

A shadow passed across Molly’s face, but just as quickly it was replaced by a too bright smile. She took Rosie from John and lifted her high in the air, laughing at the baby’s squeals. “We’ve been a little short staffed lately, but that’s okay. It’s good for me to keep busy.” She settled Rosie onto her hip and said quietly, “I’ll just take her for her bath.” She took Rosie and started up the stairs, leaving John in the kitchen gazing after her sadly.

When he had finished cleaning up the kitchen and high chair, he climbed the stairs to Rosie’s nursery. He could hear Molly humming the same song she had been humming in the lab that morning as she finished snapping Rosie into her footy pajamas. He noticed it was the set with the bees on it that Sherlock had found while on a case and brought home for her. He smiled at the memory of his best mate explaining to Rosie how extraordinary bees are. Who would have ever thought he would turn out to be so good with her, John mused. Then, remembering Mary’s insistence on asking Sherlock to be Rosie’s godfather, he realized his wife knew all along. She always understood him better than I do, he thought.

Turning away from the direction his thoughts were heading, he returned his focus to his daughter and her godmother. “Hey, Molls, what’s the song you’ve been humming? It sounds familiar,” he asked.

Molly lifted Rosie up and held her close, trying to bury her sad smile in the child’s golden hair. “It’s just one of the songs from “Les Mis”. I went to see it this weekend,” she responded softly as she set Rosie down into her crib, giving her a soft kiss on top of her downy head when Rosie made grabby motions at her.

John came up beside her and settled Rosie down, tucking her purple blanket around her and giving her a kiss before following Molly out the door.

“Yeah, Mary loved that play,” he remembered. “I think she liked the movie the best though. Something about Wolverine singing.” He shook his head and laughed. 

Molly joined him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “We were supposed to go together,” she whispered.

John nodded sadly. “I remember. Her first girls’ night after Rosie was born. She was really looking forward to it. I’m sorry, Molls. I’m glad you still went. She would’ve wanted you to.”

Molly smiled softly, one tear sliding slowly down her cheek. She reached over and gave John a quick hug before heading toward the door and reaching for her coat.

“Hey, Molly. Can I ask you something?” 

Settling her coat around her and slinging her scarf around her neck, she nodded. “Of course, John,” she replied.

John hesitated for a moment, running his right hand back through his hair nervously. “I spoke with Sherlock today,” he started, noticing how she tensed at the detective’s name. “He said he explained what happened...with his sister. Did he tell you...”

Molly cut him off, her hands tightening her scarf around her neck and grabbing her bag, “I’m sorry, John, but I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, Molly, I really don’t think he explained everyth-...”

“Good night, John,” she said, firmly shutting the door behind her as she hurried out.

John sighed in defeat. He knows if Molly knew everything about what happened that day, everything about what Sherlock did to the coffin after those words were said, she would not be keeping Sherlock at arm’s length.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to have a conversation with Sherlock.

The next evening, John stopped by Baker Street on his way home from the surgery. Sherlock had texted him earlier informing him that he had solved the case, so John figured he would be getting bored by now. He had the next day off, so maybe they could find a case to chase that evening.

As he climbed the steps to 221B, he heard Sherlock playing his violin. As he stepped into the sitting room, he saw his friend standing at the window in his camel dressing gown. His violin was tucked beneath his chin, and his eyes were closed as he played. John didn't want to disturb him, though he figured Sherlock knew he was there. He made his way to his chair, and as he sank into it he realized Sherlock was playing the very song Molly had been humming every time he'd seen her lately. He watched Sherlock continue to play the melody, swaying lightly, an expression of sadness on his face. John realized he probably didn't know he was there to allow such emotion to show. He took the opportunity to really watch his friend, to observe and not just see as Sherlock was always insisting.

In the weeks since the Sherrinford incident, Sherlock had been quiet and pensive. He visited Barts only when he had to for a case and spent even more time in his mind palace than normal. John thought he would be working himself to death, especially since his body part supply was dwindling, what with avoiding Molly. When he did go to Barts, he spoke softly to Molly, only saying, "Hello, Molly," and asking any questions about a body they might be there to see. When she came into or left a room, his eyes followed her, although if John wasn't looking for it he would never see it. Now, his best mate was standing in his flat, playing a song Molly had been humming all week with a look of pure longing on his face.

'Alright," John thought. 'It's time for this to stop.'

John quietly cleared his throat, and Sherlock's bow scratched across the strings as his eyes flew open, and he stopped playing. As he set his violin down carefully into its case, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference.

'Too late, mate,' John thought to himself, suppressing a smirk. He knew he would have to be very careful here, or Sherlock would just shut him out.

"I haven't heard you play that before," John started. "It's kind of simple for you, isn't it?"

Sherlock took his time picking up his laptop and sitting down in his chair with it. As he pulled up his emails, he shrugged nonchalantly and murmured, "It's just something I keep hearing. It's a - what do you call it? - an earworm." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and John nearly laughed out loud at Sherlock's affectation of indifference.

"Mmm," John agreed. "It must be. Molly's been humming it all week."

Sherlock shut his eyes and sighed. "I suppose this means you want to finish the discussion now, then?" he grumbled.

John sat staring at his best friend and noticed the shadows under his eyes, the increased sharpness of his cheekbones, and the weariness in his brow. "Sherlock, what's going on? Quit deflecting and be straight with me. I was there. I observe more than you think."

Sherlock let his head fall back onto his chair and took a deep breath, then let it back out slowly. John waited patiently, knowing that talking about emotions was difficult for the detective on a good day. A few minutes ticked by, so John rose and went into the kitchen. He switched on the kettle as he went to find two mugs to clean. He was surprised to see the kitchen mostly clean, clean dishes in the rack, and no experiments littering the table. As he made the tea, he kept an eye on his friend who seemed to be trying to shrink into his chair. When John came back over, he held the mug out to Sherlock who finally took it while pulling his legs up into the chair. John recognized the defensive posture so sat back down and continued to wait, sipping at his tea.

Sherlock took a sip of tea then released a great sigh. "I don't know what to do," he mumbled.

John continued waiting patiently for Sherlock to elaborate.

"I have searched my Mind Palace, and she is everywhere! How could that have happened, and I not realize it? Do you know I have never deleted one single memory of her? Every moment of interaction from the day we first met is still stored! I - ..." Sherlock trailed off.

There was such a look of confusion on his face, he looked like a lost little boy. He raised his eyes to John's, and John was surprised to see the immense pain in Sherlock's eyes.

"I don't know what to do," he repeated in a whisper.

John took another sip of his tea then asked quietly over the rim, "What do you want to do?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "I don't want to hurt her anymore," he replied forcefully, launching himself from his chair and stalking over to the window. His shoulders were tense as he clasped his hands behind his back. "It seems all I ever do is cause her pain!" he growled.

John sat silently for a moment, considering the best course to pursue with his friend. The immensity of Sherlock's emotions were obvious in the fact he was opening up at all. Sherlock had spent so many years pretending his emotions didn't exist, and in three minutes time, his sister had stripped all that away from him. He was probably feeling extremely overwhelmed, and John didn't want to push him back into his shell. He knew he needed to proceed very cautiously.

"How do you propose to stop doing that, mate?" he asked gently.

Sherlock lifted his right shoulder and just as quickly dropped it down again.

After a long silence, John tried another tact. "What do you want from Molly, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed and dropped his head forward. "I want her to be happy," he replied softly. "If anyone deserves happiness, it is Molly Hooper."

John nodded, smiling. 'We're making progress,' he thought. Out loud he asked, "And what do you think will make her happy?"

Sherlock threw his hands up as he whirled around and fixed John with a glare. "How the hell should I know?" he shouted. "Didn't you hear me? I said I only ever seem to hurt her! I don't know how to make her happy! I don't even know if I am capable of doing so! Or, if I even want to! This is real life, John, not some stupid fairy tale where everyone gets a happy ending! I mean, look at -..." he stopped abruptly as he motioned toward John. Shock and then dismay flitted across his face before remorse settled there. John didn't flinch or look away, he simply continued gazing at Sherlock. The detective's shoulders fell, and he spoke solemnly, "Forgive me, John. That was not good."

When Sherlock's eyes met John's, shock crossed his face again at the smile his best friend wore. John knew Sherlock had expected anger or sorrow, but John was too impressed by Sherlock's recognition of what his tantrum had almost led him to say.

"Do you see how much you have changed, Sherlock?" John asked. "You are not the same man you were when I first met you. And while I'd like to think I contributed to some of that change, I believe Molly had a pretty strong hand in it as well. She was the first one to make you apologize. She was the first to get you to see that sometimes your deductions aren't kind. You changed...for her. I don't know why I never noticed it before!"

Sherlock smirked, his cheeks still a little pink from John's praise. "Well, as I always say, John, you see but don't observe."

John rolled his eyes but returned his friend's smirk. "Git," he said. The two shared a smile.

John looked down at his hands because he knew what he was going to say next Sherlock would have difficulty enough processing without maintaining eye contact. He took a deep breath and then stated, "It seems like you really only have two choices then, mate. You can try to pursue what will make her happy...or you can let her go completely to try and find happiness somewhere else. It can't remain what it has been, not if you want to stop hurting her. You either try to love her the way she deserves or you let her go." John trailed off at the end and lifted his gaze to Sherlock's face. His friend's blue-green eyes had widened in shock, and his face was seized in an expression of pure panic. Sherlock remained standing at the window with this expression for many minutes, his only movement the rapid eye twitches that showed he was in his mind palace.

He knew this could be a long process for Sherlock, so he debated whether he should get another cup of tea and wait or go home and wait for Sherlock to contact him. After a few minutes of watching Sherlock's expression change from panic to confusion to sadness, he knew he needed to stay, at least for a little while. His best friend had been thrown into a maelstrom of emotions he was ill-equipped to decipher without some guidance. John just hoped he didn't make the decision to retreat back into avoidance.

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John decided to go downstairs for a bit to visit with Mrs. Hudson while he waited to see if Sherlock would need him that evening.

"Oh, John!" she exclaimed when she answered her door. "I didn't know you were here! You didn't bring Rosie?" she asked, looking a little disappointed.

"No, Mrs. H. It's just me this time," he replied. "I'm visiting Sherlock, but he's in his mind palace right now, so I thought I'd drop by for a chat."

She smiled at him, her disappointment disappearing as she welcomed in. "That is so thoughtful! How is Sherlock? He hardly leaves the flat unless he's on a case, and he's been playing that sad song from Les Miserables all week. I didn't even know he was familiar with musical theatre!" she rambled as she set out the tea things on her table.

John took the seat she offered and pondered what she had said. "He's been playing it all week?" he questioned.

"Oh, yes!" she replied, putting a plate of biscuits in front of him and continuing to prepare the tea. "Every time he comes home. The same tune, every day."

"Hm," John said quietly, picking up a biscuit and nibbling on it. He allowed Mrs. Hudson to drone on as something niggled at the back of his mind. It had been a long time since Mary had forced him to watch Les Miserables after it came out to disc. Musicals had never been his preferred genre. He had sat through it with Mary and endured every time she would watch it with minimal grumbling, mainly because her glare when he would interrupt was enough to make him cautious. 'She really did love that movie,' he remembered wistfully.

Mrs. Hudson set a cup of tea in front of him and sat opposite with a cup of her own. "I've never heard him play any popular music before," she mused. "Other than carols at Christmas, you know. It's either classics or his own. I wonder what made him choose "On My Own"? That's a funny one for him to choose, isn't it?"

John hummed, noncommittally. ""On My Own"? Is that the name of it?" he asked.

She nodded. "It's so sad. It's the song the girl Eponine sings after she takes Marius to see Cosette. She was in love with him, you see, but he loved Cosette. She ended up giving her life to protect him. It is so sad!" Mrs. Hudson said, shaking her head. "Such a strange piece for Sherlock to be playing."

John just stared at her as he remembered the part she was talking about. 'Oh, Molly,' he thought. 'Surely that's not how you feel?' But he knew it was. He had to do something to help his two friends find their way.

He swallowed his tea in one gulp and rose from the table. He leaned over and kissed Mrs. Hudson on the top of her head as she looked up in surprise. "Thanks for the tea, Mrs. H. I have to dash!" he stated as he pushed his chair back under the table.

"You're leaving so soon?" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, " he replied. "I have a couple of errands I have to run, a call to make, that sort of thing. I'll see you again soon and bring Rosie by for a visit, shall I?" he said as he exited her flat and headed for the stairs.

jwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjwjw

When John opened the door to Sherlock's flat, he was surprised to see Sherlock sitting in his chair, his phone to his ear. His curiosity was quenched, however, when Sherlock rolled his eyes and drolled, "Sorry, brother mine, I couldn't possibly. Much too busy!"

After another silence where John could barely hear Mycroft stating - 'whining?' he wondered - that he took them last time. Sherlock's mouth quirked up on one side, and he chirped, "Good! Then you will know how it ends! Bye, Mycroft!" as he hung up the phone.

John raised a questioning brow to which Sherlock gestured dismissively with his hand. "My parents have their semi-annual tickets to see Les Miserables at the Queen's. Mycroft is trying to wrangle me into taking them as he "had to endure the torture last time." Something about it being my turn. I think not."

As Sherlock trailed off, his self-satisfied smirk slid from his face, replaced by a look that could only be described as hopeless. John sighed mentally. "So?" he asked.

"So, what, John?" Sherlock stated morosely.

"You've come to a decision, then?" John pushed, picking his jacket up from the hook.

John slid his coat on and waited for Sherlock to reply. Sherlock steadily gazed into the cold fireplace and shrugged.

"There was really only one decision to make," he replied.

John moved over to stand behind his chair where he knew Sherlock could see him peripherally. He shook his head. "You've decided the best choice is to let her go then?" he asked, incredulously. "Really?"

Sherlock tensed and fisted his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. "There is no choice, John! I don't know how to do "feelings"," he sneered. "I would be rubbish in a romantic relationship! I would just keep hurting her!"

"You're going to hurt her either way, mate. At least with you she has the ability to enjoy happiness as well as hurt. That's what love is, Sherlock. It's a risk, one that's filled with joys and heartbreak, but both of which you weather together."

Sherlock was shaking his head, vehemently. "It isn't just that, John. She's be safer. Look at how many times you have been threatened since knowing me. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. What Eurus did? Next time it might not be a bluff. I couldn't bear it if she -" his words choked off. He wrestled himself back under control and then stated flatly, "She is better off without me."

He turned and stared defensively at John. John simply shook his head sadly.

"One thing you're missing, mate. That's not your choice to make," he stated.

Sherlock's gaze never faltered. "I just did," he stated firmly. With that, he rose from his chair and walked to the window, his tense back turned to John in a clear dismissal.

John stared at his stubborn friend's back for a moment then released a sigh. He strode to the door of the flat and exited without another word. By the time he reached the bottom of the 17 stairs, he heard the strains of Sherlock's violin, playing the song again. If anything, it was more sad than the actual tune. John shook his head, squared his shoulders and walked out of 221B with purpose. There was work to be done. It was time to save his best friend ... from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write. I could barely put the pen down. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it. I hope I have their voices and character down correctly. Please let me know if I don't.
> 
> Some of this I had pre-written. I am just tweaking a little as I post. Once I catch up to where I have stopped, posting will probably slow down considerably.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John enacts the first stage of his plan to bring his friends together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...just wow! I am overwhelmed by the responses I have gotten to this. Thank you so much to everyone who has commented.

At home that night, after he had fed and washed Rosie and settled her in her crib, John went to the cupboard and pulled out Mary's much-watched disc of Les Miserables. Holding it reverently in his hand, he smoothed the other hand across the front of the case. Mary had loved this film so much, and the roughed edges and chipped corner of the case bore the signs of how often it was opened. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he opened the case and removed the disc. Popping it into the player, he sank down into the sofa with a beer, wondering if he might need something a bit stronger.

'This is for Sherlock and Molly,' he reminded himself as he took a large swig of his brew and pushed play on the remote. Two hours and 38 minutes later, John pushed stop and picked up his phone. Scrolling through his contacts, he pushed call and waited.

"John. To what do I owe the pleasure?" drawled the posh voice on the other end.

"You've really done a number on your brother, you know that?" John stated.

"Oh? And in what way have I failed him this time?" the indifferent voice of the eldest Holmes sibling oozed across the line.

John sighed. "Come off it, Mycroft! I know better now. You aren't as cold and unfeeling as you try to pretend you are, especially when it comes to Sherlock."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, then Mycroft replied, "Quite right, John. What can I do for you?"

John smiled and stood, walking into the kitchen. "Well, mate, you can make damn sure your brother takes your parents to see Les Mis." Opening the refrigerator, he pulled another beer out and popped it open as he listened to Mycroft shuffling on the other side. He could just imagine the stuffy British Government trying to contain his excitement at John's vehement statement. After a moment, he finally asked, "And what makes this demand so imperative?"

John proceeded to explain to Mycroft about his suspicions on how Sherlock had handled the explanation to Molly, the humming of the song which led to the violin playing of the same song, and finally Sherlock's decision to let Molly go rather than pursue the feelings he so obviously felt for her. "He's made such massive strides, Mycroft. I just don't want fear to keep him from realizing that Molly Hooper is the best thing that has ever happened to him," John finished.

"Mm," Mycroft hummed in agreement. "It would be very detrimental to Sherlock's well-being for Dr. Hooper to be removed from his life. His attentiveness to her has been evident to me since his absence after his faked demise. Do you know he would always ask me how she was faring whenever we were in contact during those years? Sherlock may have only realized his own heart at our sister's interference, but it has been engaged for far longer. Am I correct in assuming then that you believe if Sherlock accompanies our parents to the theatre, that he will recognize the song, realize why Dr. Hooper has been humming it, and make strides to disabuse her of her false notions?"

John shook his head in exasperation. 'They really are too smart for their own good,' he thought. He answered, "Yes, that is my plan and assumption without all the posh verbiage."

From Mycroft's tone on the other end of the phone, John could tell he was smiling. "I have underestimated you, John. You really do have a good grasp on what makes my brother tick, don't you?"

John laughed. Taking a swig of his beer, he replied, "As much as he wants to be a pirate, he wants to be the hero more. We just need to give him a damsel to rescue."

"Well then," Mycroft said, "I think that I shall have to call in my secret weapon." 

John could hear the glee in Mycroft's tone. "And that is?" he queried.

Mycroft practically crowed, "Mummy! If she thinks there is a plan that could give her grandchildren at some point, she will drag Her Majesty herself to the theatre. Don't worry, John. Sherlock will be at that theatre with our parents. Mummy will make certain of it."

John grinned as Mycroft ended the call, certainly wasting no time in getting Mrs. Holmes on board. Finishing off his beer, he turned off the lights in the kitchen and returned to the sitting room. Ejecting the disc, he placed it reverently back into its case. "Well, Mary," he whispered, "it's time to help our boy become a man. You would have loved that it's your favorite play that has the starring role." He smiled and wiped away a stray tear as he replaced the case in the cupboard. Turning off the light, he climbed the stairs to check on Rosie and then get some sleep. About fifteen minutes later, he was lying in bed when he heard his phone's text alert. He smiled and whispered, "The game is on, Sherlock Holmes!" as he read Mycroft's message.

"Mummy is a go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is pretty short, but it needed to stop there. Hope you enjoy the little levity in the angst-fest.
> 
> This is the end of what I had prewritten. From here on out, I will be writing fresh so updates will probably take more time. Please hang in there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock opens up to John, and a visit from Mummy sets the plan in motion.

John pushed open the door to 221B the next morning and almost dropped his large cup of black coffee upon seeing his best friend sitting in his chair. Normally this time of morning Sherlock would still be in bed, and John would either risk life and limb trying to rouse him or would simply sit in his own chair with his coffee and the paper until the sleeping beauty chose to arise. It was usually the latter. As a single parent to a young child, he took every opportunity he could to find a little peace and quiet.

"Hey, mate!" he said, surprised. "I didn't expect to see you up this early."

Sherlock didn't respond, so John moved over to his chair and sat down. Taking a closer look at his friend, he noticed the shadows around his eyes were darker, and Sherlock was still wearing the same clothes from the day before. The only time Sherlock was not obsessively fastidious was when he was high. John's heart rate jumped as he realized Sherlock was having an even greater problem with all that he was processing than John had even realized.

"Sherlock?" he questioned gently.

Sherlock's eyes met his, and John was alarmed by how bloodshot and hopeless they looked. 

The detective shook his head. "No, John, I haven't taken anything and there is no list." If anything, it seemed as if he drew even further back into his chair.

John nodded and silently breathed a sigh of relief. "Didn't get much sleep?" he asked, trying to get Sherlock to show some emotion, even if it was irritation at something so obvious.

His ploy didn't work. Sherlock simply shook his head and folded his hands together in his lap. He took a deep breath as if he was going to say something, then let it back out and dropped his eyes back to the floor.

Very gently, John said, "You know I'm here for you, right? You know you can talk to me?" His worry for his friend's state of mind was growing by the minute, and he was suddenly very glad he had the day off. He wasn't entirely sure what Sherlock would do if he were alone right now.

The dark, messy head of curls bobbed as Sherlock nodded, attempting a small smile, an effort to assure him probably, but it slid away as soon as it appeared. "Thank you, John," he whispered.

The two sat silently for a few minutes before John decided it wasn't healthy. Picking up his laptop from where he had set it beside his chair, he asked brightly, "Let's just see if we can find a case, shall we? I've got the day off. Rosie's with Mrs. H. Maybe it will be good to find something to keep you busy."

Sherlock shook his head. "There isn't anything. Last night, when I couldn't ... sleep ... I looked through all the emails and on your blog. There's nothing."

"Alright, well, did you call Greg? Maybe he has something."

"I don't want a case, John. I just want the pain to stop. When does it stop?" Sherlock asked in a monotone.

"I wish I knew what to tell you, mate. I don't think it ever does. You just learn to live with it." John took a deep breath before asking carefully, "Are you sure this is what you want, Sherlock? If it hurts this much perhaps you should reconsider."

Sherlock unfolded his long frame from his chair slowly. John could see the weariness in the detective's bearing, and the fact that all the defiance from the day before had slid away. Sherlock's shoulders were slumped, his head low, as he walked over to the window. John knew this position was one of avoidance, but he waited to see if Sherlock would respond to his question or dismiss him as he had previously.

His friend stood at the window, but he wasn't looking out. His gaze was fixed on his violin where it sat on the stand. John could see his hands flexing as though wanting to pick it up, but he was holding himself back. "She's better off without me in her life," he whispered brokenly. "This is the one thing I can do for her."

"But, Sherlock, what about what's best for you? And shouldn't Molly get a say in what is best for her own life?" John questioned.

"Don't you see, John?" Sherlock asked. "That's how I know this is better for HER! It's the first thing I have ever done regarding Molly Hooper that wasn't about what was best for me." He paused. Taking a deep breath and turning around, he spoke quietly, "Isn't that what love is? Doing what is best for the other person, even at the expense of yourself?"

John was speechless. He had no idea what to say to his best friend. He was dumbfounded that Sherlock would be so open with his heart when the day before he had seemed to want to deny its very existence. 'Mycroft was wrong,' he thought to himself. 'Just when I think I have Sherlock figured out, he completely throws me off kilter.'

Finally, he nodded to the broken man standing in front of him. "Yeah. Yeah, that is what love is, mate. But love is also allowing the other person a say in their own life. Molly's happiness does not exclude your own. Remember, she loves you too. She's consistently wanted what was best for you..."

"And look what it got her!" Sherlock interrupted loudly. "Nothing but pain ... at my doing. Every time. Every time," he trailed off in a whisper. 

John nodded again. He knew Sherlock was alluding to that first Christmas when he had so cruelly, and incorrectly, deduced Molly Hooper. "But, Sherlock, don't you see how you've changed since then? How you've changed toward her? You have become more caring and gentle with her. Surely you see that?"

"And what did that get her but make Eurus aware of her, of my regard for her? It put a target on her back! I can't allow that to happen again. If anything ever happened to her, I wouldn't survive it, John." Tears welled in Sherlock's eyes, and he turned away from John to face the window again. As soon as his gaze focused out the window, he stiffened. "What is she doing here?" he growled. "Bloody Mycroft!"

John's brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden mood change. A second later, he heard a knock on the door downstairs. After a moment, Mrs. Hudson had opened the door and a loud, "William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" sounded throughout the flat. John watched Sherlock clench his fists for a moment, swipe at his eyes, take a breath and then release all tension from his body. When he turned around, John was surprised to see a bright smile on the detective's face. 'His acting ability never ceases to amaze me,' he thought in wonder.

A moment later, the force of nature that was Mummy Holmes swept like a gale through the door.

"Mummy!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I didn't know you were in town!"

Mrs. Holmes stopped a foot away from her youngest son and tilted her head back to look him in the eye. A delicate eyebrow rose halfway up her forehead. "Really? That's interesting because Mykey told me he informed you we were here, and that I wanted you to attend the theatre with us."

The fake smile fell from Sherlock's face and was replaced by the petulant look the man-child often wore when dealing with his older brother. "As I clearly informed Mycroft, Mummy, I am much too busy to go to the theatre. Look, John is here, and we are working!"

Mrs. Holmes turned to see John still sitting in his chair, rather dazed by the happenings, and smiled brightly at him. "Hello, John! I'm sorry I didn't see you there. Much too focused on this rotten boy of mine. How is Rosie? I saw her with Martha, and she has grown so much!

John finally smiled and rose from his seat, crossing to give Sherlock's mother a hug and a buss on the cheek. "Good morning, Mrs. Holmes. Rosie is fantastic! She's starting to try to walk so she's becoming quite a handful!"

She returned his hug and said, "I'll have to stop by Martha's on my way out and snuggle the little darling." Turning back to Sherlock, the smile fell away, and she fixed him with a very familiar determined expression. "Mykey cannot be expected to entertain us every time we are in town. We have two sons and would like to spend time with both. It is not up for discussion, William. You will attend the theatre with your father and I tomorrow evening, and I expect you to be on your best behaviour." With that said, she stepped forward and enveloped her youngest son in a big hug.

John grinned at the embarrassment on his best friend's face. "I'm not a child, Mummy," Sherlock groused.

"Then quit acting like one," she declared.

"But, Mummy," Sherlock whined, "what about our work? John has so little time he can help me on cases now as it is!" He lifted pleading eyes to John, looking for his help.

John shook his head. "No way, mate! You aren't dragging me into this!"

Mrs. Holmes pulled back from the hug and laid her hand on Sherlock's cheek. "It's only one night, dear. We see you so rarely. Please, do this for me," she pleaded, her blue-green eyes staring imploringly into her son's matching orbs.

John saw the moment Sherlock capitulated and accepted the inevitable. 'Well, it's obvious where he learned his manipulation from,' John smiled to himself. 'Secret weapon indeed!' he thought with glee.

With one more hug and a cheek kiss that John thought Sherlock seriously considered wiping off, Mrs. Holmes swept from the flat with the same swiftness with which she had entered.

John turned to look at Sherlock when he heard the detective mutter, "Bloody Mycroft!" Sherlock threw himself down in his chair and picked up John's laptop. "Hurry, John! Help me find a case so that I can at least stay sane until tomorrow night," he demanded.

John nodded once and sat down across from his best friend. Now all he had to do was hope this plan worked. He'd said all he could say. Sherlock just needed to see it from another point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. That didn't take too long, did it? I'm not sure how I feel about the flow of this one. I would appreciate some feedback. Did it need more description? Was the change from emotional vulnerability to tense defense too quick?
> 
> Up next...John gets to spend a little time with Molly while Sherlock dreads going to the theatre with his parents.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have a moment. John is more clever than Sherlock realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get this chapter to you. They simply would not cooperate! This is the third version, and I hope it's okay.
> 
> Also, these are not betaed. I’m only editing myself. I try to catch the typos, but you know... I hope there isn’t any confusion over the difference between John’s thoughts and his dialogue. Obviously dialogue has quotes, while thoughts have apostrophes. Let me know if it is too confusing, and I will change it.

"Sherlock, why are we here?" John asked for the fourth time. He was standing across the lab table at Bart's staring at the top of Sherlock's head as the detective closely examined five photographs.

"Working. Case...Remember?" Sherlock snarked.

"Yes, I remember. Why are we HERE? As in, Bart's. You could have examined those photographs just as easily at Baker Street," John bit out. He was feeling a bit grumpy after having been awakened at 4:30 by the detective demanding his presence at the Bart's lab immediately. After asking his next door neighbor who woke up early and watched Rosie sometimes to keep an eye on her, he rushed to Bart's wondering what could have been so imperative so early in the morning. Having sat across from the silent detective for half an hour, he had finally wandered to the canteen for some coffee. When he returned with two cups of coffee, Sherlock was still bent over the same photographs. He didn't look as if he had even moved.

When Sherlock failed to respond again, John set down the coffee cups and swiped the photos from under the detective's nose. 'Now I know something is up,' he thought. 'He should have been able to deduce I would do that.'

Sherlock slowly lifted his eyes to look at John. The doctor could tell he still hadn't had any sleep. John glanced down at the photographs in his hand and did a double take when he realized they were all of Molly. His eyes narrowed and rose back up to Sherlock's face.

"So...you solved the case, then?" he started, pushing one of the cups of coffee toward his friend.

Sherlock nodded slowly and sank onto the stool next to him. "Simple. It was only a two. Seriously, who dresses up as a clown to break into their own shop and steal the alarm box? Ridiculous waste of my time, but at least it gave me something to do. Although, I did take a photograph of Mr. Abernathy dressed up as "Slinky". I sent it to Mycroft. He's terrified of clowns." Sherlock's uncharacteristic rambling trailed off in a smirk. He picked up the coffee and took a large gulp. His face scrunched for a second at the taste, then he shrugged and took another gulp.

John shook his head trying to keep up. 'He's gone loopy,' he mused. 'Sleep deprivation is making him go full on nutter. It's too early in the morning for this!'

"Mate, seriously...what are these and why are we here?" John asked, taking a deep breath for patience and holding up the photographs. 

The detective reached across the table and snatched them from John's hand. "Don't be obtuse, John. You can see what they are," Sherlock answered glumly.

"Yes, I can, but that doesn't tell me why we are here at Bart's, or why you were examining them."

Sherlock's eyes dropped to the photos again and his gaze was soft as he stared at them. "She has a myriad of micro-expressions depending on her emotions or what is going on around her. Did you know that? I've catalogued each one in my Mind Palace, even taken a photo of a few..." here he held up the photos, "and still I don't understand her."

John barked a laugh which startled Sherlock so much he almost fell off the stool. He stared wide-eyed at John for a moment. 'Yep, he's about ready to drop from exhaustion,’ he smirked to himself.

John explained to him, "You never will, mate. We just do the best we can and blunder through most of it hoping we don't muck it up. Why are you here, Sherlock? I thought you had made your decision?"

Picking up his cup, Sherlock took another big swallow of the coffee. John just waited, knowing his friend was stalling.

Finally, after he finished his coffee, he set the cup down and replied softly, "I had to see her one last time."

John nodded, understanding. "And say good-bye?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I think it is better for both of us to leave it like it is."

The doctor narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Better for whom? It gives her no closure. Or you either, for that matter. You owe her more than that, Sherlock!"

The detective jumped up, swaying slightly, then placing his hands on the table he leaned forward into John's face and spat out, "Don't tell me how much I owe her, John! Don't you think I know? Don't you think I am aware of what she is in my life ... what it is I am losing? Trust me, I know!" The fire went out of him as quickly as it appeared. Unsteadily, he sat back onto the stool but braced himself against the table. His brow furrowed in confusion for a moment then his eyes widened, and he looked at the empty coffee cup. His eyes raised accusingly to John, and he whined, "You drugged me!"

A gentle smile came to John's face. "Just a little bit. A little trick I learned from Mary. You're exhausted, mate. You need some rest. Besides, you have the theatre with your parents tonight. You're barely functional."

Sherlock slowly shook his head. "I don't want to go to the bloody theatre!" he whined. The more groggy he got, the more like a little boy he sounded. John walked around the table to help the wobbly detective to his feet. As Sherlock stood, he put an arm around John's shoulder and leaned on him. "You're a good friend, John," he cried, tears welling in his eyes. "Even if you did drug me."

John smirked, wishing he could film his friend for blackmail purposes later and for proof because no one else, especially Sherlock, would believe him. 

As they drew closer to the door, Sherlock pulled up short. "Wait!" he cried out in distress. "I didn't get to see Molly!"

John patted him on the back and urged him to keep walking. He didn't relish the idea of dealing with the detective's dead weight if he konked out. "You can come back and see her later," he assured the distraught detective. "After you get done at the theatre maybe."

"NO!" Sherlock cried mournfully. "Not the theatre! Why is Mummy making me go?" 

John and Sherlock were brought to a stop as the lab door opened suddenly. Before them stood Lestrade and Molly, both looking quite surprised at the two friends, the taller one practically hanging off the other. 

Concern flitted across Molly's face. "Is everything okay? Sherlock, what's wrong?" Molly asked, stepping forward. Her hand reached out toward the detective before she stopped and clasped her hands, wringing them together in distress, her brow furrowed with worry.

'She just can't help herself,' John mused over the strength of Molly's love and compassion for Sherlock. Shame filled him as he thought about his own struggle to love and forgive; first Sherlock, then Mary ... then Sherlock, again. 'She truly is an amazing woman. This better work and help him get his head out of his arse,' he thought desperately.

Molly's concerned gaze turned to him when neither he nor the slumping detective immediately responded. John rushed to reassure her. 

"No worries, Molls. Sherlock is just exhausted. He hasn't been sleeping well, so I gave him a little something to make him rest. I'm taking him to Baker Street now so he can get some sleep."

"You need some help, mate?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah, thanks, Greg. We could use a ride, " John nodded, grateful for the offer. 

His gaze drifted from the inspector back to Molly. He could see the emotions rolling across her face. "Are you sure he's okay, John?" she asked softly. "Was it really wise giving him a sleeping agent with his history?"

John smiled comfortingly at her. "Yeah. You know I wouldn't give him anything that would threaten his sobriety. I gave him a dose of midazolam. I was actually surprised it took effect so quickly. Just shows how exhausted he is. He's fine, just needs some sleep."

Molly glanced back to the detective who still seemed out of it and said, "Okay, then."

At this soft utterance, the drugged detective's head shot up, and his glazed cerulean eyes fixed on the short pathologist. A wide, goofy grin spread across his face. "Molly!" he slurred loudly. "I was waiting for you!"

Her eyes widened in shock as Sherlock tried to take a step forward and almost fell flat on his face. He grabbed onto John's shoulder trying to keep himself vertical. He looked at his legs in confusion then back up at John. "John!" he tried to whisper, "somethin's wrong wi' mah legs!" John almost laughed at the comical look of confusion on his friend's face. Sherlock looked at Molly again and tried to whisper, but failing miserably, he moaned, "Shhhh! Don't tell Molly there's somethin wrong wif me!"

Lestrade guffawed and said, "I think she knows, mate!" He stepped forward and pulled Sherlock's arm over his shoulder, helping the detective to stand upright.

Sherlock looked between Molly and Lestrade and glared at the inspector. "Wha' are you doing wif my pafologist, Greg? You're supposed to be mah friend!"

Lestrade laughed again and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "I am your friend, Sherlock. Molly and I were just discussing a case, that’s all. Come on, let's get you home."

As Lestrade started to help Sherlock through the door, they could hear the detective mumble forcefully, "Best make sure it stays tha' way, Lestrade! She's MY Molly!"

Lestrade winked at John and Molly as he said, "Yeah, I got it!" Looking to John, he asked, "You coming?"

John took one look at the confusion on Molly's face, and the tears in her eyes and shook his head. "Actually, Greg, could you get him to Baker Street? I'll text Mrs. Hudson and let her know you're coming. He'll sleep for a few hours once he's out."

Lestrade nodded and glanced at Molly. Turning back to John, he nodded again and assured, "Sure thing! I'll get him home and help Mrs. Hudson get him settled." He mouthed silently, "Good luck," as he helped the once-more-incoherent detective out the door in the direction of the lifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter ended up being ridiculously long so I split it in two. John's conversation with Molly is coming up in the next chapter. I already have it written so it won't take long to post. Please leave me some feedback on whether this chapter worked for you...or not. I am always trying to improve.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my take on Sherlock under sleep deprivation and the influence of a sleeping aid. A little levity before the angst.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Molly come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it wouldn't take long.

As the lab door swung shut behind Lestrade and Sherlock, John's focus turned to Molly. She was standing off to the side, a look of shock on her face and wringing her hands. John gently reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her and get her attention. Her wide brown eyes shot up to his as the first tear slid down her cheek.

"Oh, Molls," John whispered soothingly as he stepped forward and enveloped her in his arms. As soon as he embraced her, the dam burst, and she started to sob. She curled into herself, burying her face into his shoulder; great, wracking cries shaking her diminutive frame. They stood like that for several moments, John rubbing her back and whispering, "It's going to be okay."

When her sobs finally subsided to hiccupping breaths, she stepped back. "I'm so sorry," she said, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her green jumper, her cheeks red. "I don't know what came over me. I just never ..." she trailed off, her hands flitting in front of her trying to express what her words could not. Her damp gaze met John's, and she asked quietly, "Why did he say that, John? Why did he call me that?"

John sighed and walked over to the lab table and sat down on one of the stools. Gesturing to the one across from him, he waited while Molly got some towels to wipe her face. While she was busy, he hastily texted Mrs. Hudson and let her know what was going on with Sherlock and that Lestrade was bringing him home. Looking up, he noticed Molly was now sitting across from him. Reaching out to pat her hand, he asked, "What did Sherlock tell you about what happened at Sherrinford?"

Molly stiffened for a moment, tears rising in her eyes again, but she dashed them away. "John, I really don't ..."

"Molls, I know you don't want to talk about it," John interrupted, "but I am positive Sherlock didn't tell you everything. To answer your question, you need to know the whole story. Please ..."

She took another shuddering breath, searched his face, then nodded. Lowering her eyes to where her hands were joined on the table, she said quietly, "He told me about his sister, that she had done some terrible things to him when he was younger, and so she was taken away. Due to the trauma, he had blocked his memories of her, but that she had used her extreme genius and powers of persuasion to be released from the facility that held her. She had masqueraded as your therapist to make him remember her and get him to come to Sherrinford.

"When he got there, she had tests for him to perform because she wanted to understand how he shut off his emotions to be able to reason and deduce. One of those tests was a threat to my life unless I said I - ... th-the w-w-words he asked me to say. Once I said them, she revealed there was no threat, and he went on to the next test."

Molly stopped, and John waited for her to continue, but she remained silent. In shock, John asked, "Was that all he said?"

She nodded, wringing her hands again. "Other than he told me she had tried to kill you, but he had convinced her to change her mind. And that she is safely back in custody where she can't hurt me. I am so sorry, John! I can't imagine what that was like for you! I -"

"Stop!" John spoke firmly, holding up his hand. Molly's eyes snapped up to his, confusion written on her face.

"That utter - ... and he calls me an idiot!" John shouted, slamming his hands down on the table and shooting up off the stool. Seeing Molly jump, startled, he took deep breaths trying to calm down. Anger coursed through him at his best friend, and presently he wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face. Maybe that would knock some sense into his thick skull. He started pacing for a moment, trying to work out some of his anger and frustration.

After a couple of minutes, he settled onto the stool again and reached over to put his hands over Molly's which she was wringing raw. He looked into her wide eyes and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Molls, I'm not upset with you. It's my best mate I would like to punch right now."

She giggled a little and nodded. "I know the feeling!"

John grinned then asked, "Can I tell you what really happened? If I do, I think you'll understand a little bit better."

He could see Molly's hesitation warring with her concern and curiosity. Finally, she nodded. "Alright, John," she said. "I trust you. If you think it's important for me to hear it then I will listen." She stared at him seriously. "I am trusting that you wouldn't hurt me unnecessarily."

John squeezed her hands gently. "You have my word."

Molly nodded once and gave him a small smile.

He started from the beginning and left nothing out. He told her about Eurus revealing herself to him, and how she was a master of disguise and had even fooled Sherlock...twice. He shared how the two of them had scared Mycroft into telling them the truth about Eurus, and how Sherlock had forgotten her. That wrung a giggle out of Molly as he described all the things they had done to Mycroft.

Next, he told her about the grenade at Baker Street, and how they survived but faked the news that Mycroft had been injured. "It was the first time I ever heard Sherlock say anything positive or complimentary to Mycroft. He must have doubted we would survive it, " he said, a shudder going through him at the memory. "It was rightly given though. Mycroft is a consummate actor. As talented as Sherlock, if not more." 

He told her how they pirated a number of shipping vessels to enter Sherrinford, and how Mycroft took on the persona of a fishing captain, and Sherlock that of a tough, Irish guard. Molly laughed as John described Mycroft's complete embracing of his role and tried to demonstrate how Sherlock made himself look shorter and stockier by the way he walked.

John explained he didn't know what happened to Sherlock when he was with Eurus, but he and Mycroft came to realize how deep her powers of persuasion really were as they were made aware she had taken over the entire island. Molly gasped at the knowledge of Eurus' connection to Moriarty, and how it was her who had basically saved her brother from exile with the Moriarty clip.

As John told her about the first two tests with the governor of the prison and the Garrideb brothers, Molly's eyes grew wide, and her hands covered her mouth in horror. "She just killed them. No remorse, no mercy, no hesitation. And through it all, Sherlock remained a rock. Mycroft faltered. I almost lost it, but Sherlock kept soldiering on. That's what he called it. "Soldiers today," he told me. This was a war where the attacks just got harder and harder." John shuddered again and took a deep breath. Molly reached out and covered his hands with hers this time. He smiled grimly at her before continuing.

"The third room held a coffin, empty, with the lid leaning against the wall. Sherlock immediately started deducing the coffin; that it was for a woman who was practical about death with no family. Mycroft pointed out there was a plaque on the lid, but instead of a name there were three words. One look at those words and Sherlock knew who the coffin was meant for. Eurus told us there were bombs in your flat, and it would explode in three minutes unless -"

"Unless he could get me to say it," she interrupted, tears welling in her eyes.

John nodded sadly. "Mycroft and I were both there, Molly. There were cameras. We could see you. We saw and heard everything."

Molly gasped, her cheeks flooding in embarrassment. Her tears overflowed her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. "I don't think I want to hear anymore, John! I remember what happened next."

John took her hand and squeezed it. "You only know your perspective. Hang in there with me a little longer, please. You need to hear the rest."

Molly took her hand away and stood, shaking her head. "I just ... I just can't, John! I can't go through it again!"

"Okay, I won't go over the phone call, but, Molly, please ... you have to know what happened after the call ended!" John pleaded.

Molly shut her eyes and breathed deeply . Breathing out slowly, she slid back onto the stool, but kept her hands in her lap. John could almost see the wall she was building around herself. She nodded hesitantly. "Go on, " she said, no inflection in her voice.

John breathed a sigh of relief and continued. "When the phone call ended, he tried to put all those emotions back in a box, tried to shut them off again. He told Eurus he had won, he had saved you and to let him speak to the little girl again. She scoffed at him, pointed out all the emotions he hadn't been able to hide away. She told him there was no threat to you, pointed out he had missed it because he was emotionally compromised. Then, she opened the door and told us to move on to the next test. Mycroft and I started for the door, but Sherlock ... he went over, picked up the lid to the coffin, placed it on the coffin ..." John paused a moment until Molly looked up at him.

"Then he proceeded to tear that coffin apart with his bare hands, pounding at it over and over, screaming, until there was nothing left but shards of wood and scraps of cloth strewn all over the room. Then he simply collapsed."

John held Molly's astonished gaze, wanting to make sure she saw his sincerity and knew he was not embellishing any of the facts. "Through all of that, Molly," he told her gently, " the only thing that broke him was knowing he hurt you ... and thinking that he had lost you. I had never seen him lose control before, not even when he was high. He simply lost it. Molly, I was there. He meant it. He does love you."

Silently, John hoped that hearing the rest of what happened at Sherrinford would help her. He was not prepared for what she said next.

"I'm not an idiot, you know," she said softly. "I knew there was something wrong. That wasn't normal behaviour, even for Sherlock. He avoids emotion and sentiment. I know he feels it, but he thinks it makes him weak. I could hear the panic in his voice, especially at the last. I wasn't going to say it at all. I made him say it because I figured he wouldn't, and that would be the end of it. When he did ..." her voice caught. She cleared her throat and continued, "When he did, especially the second time, I KNEW something was wrong. And, as usual, I just couldn't abandon him. I'm not angry, John. I've just given up hope. Don't you think I know he loves me? Why do you think I made him say it? I know. But now, I also know he will never do anything about it. And my heart can't take it anymore. It's too much."

John stared at her in amazement. He was dumbfounded. He would have never guessed that Molly knew Sherlock so well that she would perceive that which apparently no one but Sherlock's genius sister had realized. "You two really are perfect for each other, " he said in awe.

Molly smiled sadly, "But he will never admit that. And I have reached the end of my ability to keep hoping he will."

John stood and walked around the table. Stopping beside her, he grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Molly, I am begging you, please don't give up yet. I'm in the middle of a plan, one to help him wake up and admit that truth, but I need you to be patient just a little while longer. I swear to you, I will get him to see it."

Molly was shaking her head. "He won't, John. He won't admit it, and I can't take the pain anymore," she ended on a whisper, tears once again filling her eyes.

John hugged her fiercely, then stepped back to look her in the face. "He already admits it, Molls! He admitted it to me. He just thinks you are better off, safer, without him. But I promise you, I will make him see."

He could tell she was still resistant, so he tried one last ditch effort. "You said you trust me not to hurt you unnecessarily. Please, trust me this time."

Molly turned her wet eyes up to his face and examined it thoroughly. What she saw there much have convinced her because she swallowed and then hesitantly nodded. "Okay, John. I will trust you a little bit longer."

John enveloped her in a big hug and kissed the top of her head. "You aren't just Rosie's godmother, you know. You've become a dear friend. I never would have made it through after Mary ... without you. I will not fail you, Molly. Besides, Mary would come back just to kill me if I mucked this up. She said years ago you two would end up together. That's one of the many reasons she insisted on both of you being godparents. She had to work a little harder to convince me about Sherlock."

Molly giggled, and John grinned at her. Giving her one last hug, he said, "I better shove off then. Got a plan to finish working out."

Molly nodded and waved goodbye to him as he turned and walked purposefully from the lab. As the doors of the lift closed, he whispered, "Mary, I wish you were here to help me with this. You always understood Sherlock best. I could really use that knowledge right now. I have to make sure this works. I gave my word, and God help me, I will NOT fail her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, John's plan is even more important now. I know this was a little angsty, but I felt it was necessary to finally hear Molly's side. My Molly is always going to be smarter and stronger than she is portrayed sometimes in the show. I think she has an emotional perception and genius that perfectly balances out Sherlock. My John is also more clever. 
> 
> Next up: Sherlock calls for backup.


End file.
